


To the world

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: Dining at the Ritz is an experience with Aziraphale and Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	To the world

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I looked up the London Ritz’s food and wine menu. ‘Whispering Angel’ Rosé is actually a very real thing. All food is based on what the Ritz is currently serving in 1/20

“Mr. Pepper, and Mr. Salt have just made a reservation!”

The sudden announcement from a very enthusiastic host in the Ritz’s break room made every head dart up from their phones, teas, and cigarettes. An immediate chatter commenced from it. 

Martin looked over at Jerry in question who grinned back in uninformative answer, as was the older man’s way Martin was beginning to find out. The Ritz’s staff were getting strangely excited, at least in Martin’s opinion, about a couple of blokes with funny names coming in, but he hadn’t been a busboy there long either. The staff were all acting like the Queen was about to turn up for tea and a personal meet and greet with them.

“Of course, that ponce Gerald’s got the section they’re in.” Emily said, voicing the bitterness the rest of the waiting staff was currently experiencing. Gerald was a weasel of a man wearing a bow tie and apron to help blend in, but he did know whose ass to poke his nose in, and sometimes, that was enough.

“Die mad about it.” Gerald smirked, who knew he was generally disliked by the entire staff at large, and openly didn’t give two flying fucks about it. 

“What’s the whole hullabaloo about them anyway?” Martin asked his trainer who was flicking the cherry off his cigarette to save the rest for later. “And what’s with those names? Are they celebrities hiding out or something?”

“Or something, lad.” Jerry said, the man treating words like they personally charged him money for their usage. 

“They might as well be celebrities round here.” Gerald said as he fixed up minor touches in the mirror, looking as smug as possible while doing so. 

“Good tippers then, yeah?” 

“The best!” Emily said with a smile of someone who had been able to pay their entire rent all in one go, all thanks to the pair’s infamous generosity. 

“Better luck next time.” Gerald said in a lofty tone of voice, just to make the rest seethe. Emily swore the man lived on other’s miseries like he needed them to survive. 

“I wish it could have been me.” Mary sighed softly, looking about as tired as she felt. Raising a baby all in their own will do that to a body though. “A few prayers might have been answered tonight if I had.”

“I’m not trading sections with you so don’t bother.” Gerald said with immediate open scorn. 

“And I’m not asking you to.” Mary bit back. “I have nothing going on in me own section worth trading for anyway.”

“Who ya got?” Emily asked, studying Mary’s pained expression.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.” Mary grimaced. The pair were just as infamous at the Ritz as Mr. Pepper and Mr. Salt, but for vastly differing opposite reasons. The husband and wife duo was known for being obnoxious in behavior, tedious in ordering, and unbearably picky. These tendencies doubled if their butterball of a son joined them for the evening. Even worse, they tipped a pittance. Many a server had ended up in the break room crying, or kicking the lockers because of the Dursleys. 

“Fucking Hell.” Emily said while Gerald snickered. 

“I still don’t get it.” Martin said. 

“Shocking.” Gerald rolled his eyes.

“Quit being so hateful before life learns you a lesson.” Emily warned before turning back to the bussers. “Here’s the thing. There will be this ‘set in stone’ reservation for the VIP table in the piano room, the kind of which that people keep unless one of them dies kind of thing, but then all of the sudden, it’s up and cancelled for no reason at all, and it’s always replaced with Mr. Salt or Mr. Pepper, though more often than not, it’s Mr. Salt.

“Apparently, it’s been going on now for decades, and it’s always at the same table, the VIP one in the piano room.” Mary added in. “For as long as the management can remember, and then some.”

“So what? You all are trying to tell me that there is a pair of gents who have been using magic to dine here whenever they like at the same table since before Thatcher was in office?” Martin attempted to clarify to a round of nodding heads. “Go on then. Pull the other one. It’s got bells on it.” 

“It’s true! I swear on me mum, it’s all true.” Emily said, the rest of the staff nodding again. 

“It gets even better! Wonderful things happen to whoever waits on them.” Mary explained, “If you’re ill, or in pain, you’ll be fit as a fiddle by the night’s end.”

“This one time, they sent Shelley on that lovely trip to Italy, all expenses paid. She met the love of her life there, and decided to stay.” Emily sighed out dreamily, remembering their former coworker. Lovely girl, but had never been lucky in love until then. 

“Break’s over, lad. Work to do.” Jerry said as he got up., and there was. Quite a bit to do before and during dinner service. There were tables to clear, and reset with shined to a mirror polish silverware, wine glasses that sparkled like crystal, and immaculate flatware that was perfectly spaced from one another. 

Martin had never given it much thought until he was actually in the thick of it. He had completely forgotten about the pair until Jerry elbowed his side to get his attention, giving a subtle little head jerk to look in what direction. 

Martin hadn’t known what to expect, but the pair of them was somewhat disappointing, especially after all the hype. Mr. Pepper appeared to have only a passing notion about how to sit properly in a chair. In all fairness, neither did Mr. Salt. While Mr. Pepper spilled himself across any available surface, Mr. Salt sat stiff as a pillar. 

Their personal styles sat at opposite ends of the spectrum. Looking terribly modern and uncomfortable, Mr. Pepper was wearing pants so tight it made Martin wince looking at him. Mr. Salt seemed to have acquired his suit from his great great grandfather’s closet.

Continuing to spy on them from one of the server stations he was supposed to be restocking, Martin wondered what they did for a living. Mr. Salt looked soft so probably something involving a desk and deadlines. On the other hand, Martin thought Mr. Pepper looked somewhat like the drug dealing hairdresser he use to buy ecstasy from back in the day. 

“What’s so special about a couple of poofs? Are they rich or something, like the Beckhams?” Martin started to ask until he noticed his coworkers glaring daggers at him. “What?”

“Don’t you ever use that word, especially with them!” Emily said, looking angry enough to spit. 

“Didn’t mean nothing by it. It’s just how I talk.” Martin quickly backpedaled. The servers looked ready to commit murder. 

“Then don’t. Trust me when I say, no one here is paying you to talk, or wants to hear anything you have to say, you ignorant buffoon.” Gerald practically spat out the words at the floundering busboy.

“Now you done it, lad.” Jerry muttered under his breathe. 

“He’s right. Gerald’s an asshole but he’s right. It’s real ‘upstairs, downstairs’ here, you being one of the lowest steps there is.” Mary said, “Just keep your head down, love, and you’ll do fine. Try not to talk if you can help it.”

Despite her assurances, Martin figured that this would probably be his last night here. He knew that Gerald would run and tell it as soon as the shift was over. With the exception of Mary, all the servers were giving him the stink eye. 

Giving in to curiosity, Martin tried to sneak in closer peeks here and there of the pair, but Mr. Salt would always be looking at him as soon as he planned it out. It was like the man had eyes in the back of his head, and everywhere else that mattered too. 

“So what have they ordered this time?” Emily asked as she typed in her order for the kitchen. 

“Deviled eggs and a bottle of Whispering Angel Rosé to start with as per usual. I plan on selling them on the Carruades de Lafite.” Gerald smirked at his own perceived cleverness.

“Paired with what exactly? They never order anything that goes with that kind of wine because they prefer grenache blends. You’re better off selling them on the Hommage à Jacques Perrin.” Emily said, confusing Martin further. It was like they were speaking a foreign language. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I couldn’t make my table buy things they didn’t need.” Gerald all but bragged.

“It’s not about the need here. It’s about the want. Mark my words, they won’t like it.” Mary pointed out. 

“Keep enjoying your bitter boots.” Gerald said, turning on his heel to attempt his play in greed.

“Pompous little idiot” Emily grumbled as she headed back out again onto the floor. 

“Sorry, Miss Mary, but what are they going on about?” Martin’s curiosity voicing his confusion. Mary seemed the safest to ask. 

“Gerald is going to go talk up a bottle of red wine. He’s picked that wine because it’s £1,250.” Mary explained, showing Martin the wine menu. He dry swallowed hard at some of the prices. The one Emily had talked about was a paltry £800 in comparison. “It’s an exceptional wine, but the problem is that Mr. Pepper and Mr. Salt don’t really care for Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot blends, and almost never drink wine from Bordeaux. They prefer bottles from the Rhône region, like a Chateauneuf-du-Pape, which is more of a grenache noir blend.”

“Bloody hell, you have to know all that just to wait on tables!?” Martin asked, gaining a new found respect for the servers. The Ritz’s wine menu had over 800 bottles on it, and Mary was just casually walking him through it like it was nothing.

“It’s part of the job.” Mary shrugged, relieved that none of the other servers had been around to hear Martin’s ‘just to be a server’. “You should really mind how you talk though.”

“I’ve gone and done it again, have I? At this rate, I’m not going to be here much longer.” Martin said, feeling miserable about it. He really needed this job to work out so he could prove to his parents that he could make it on his own in London. 

“Don’t say that. You can still turn it around.” Mary said, getting her floor persona ready. The Dursleys had just arrived, and they had their terrible son with them as well. Mary prepared herself for the worst, and made a promise to herself not to cry. 

“If they don’t like that kind of wine, why does that git Gerald thinks he’s going to slip it past them?” Martin asked.

“Because Gerald thinks he’s slick. He’s going to pull an old serving trick. He’ll open the bottle without properly presenting it and pour it, knowing that they don’t like wasting wine once the cork has been popped. Mr. Salt is too nice to make a fuss over it, and Mr. Pepper will do anything he wants, like keep wine that they don’t like. Then they’ll tip off it like they always do.” Mary explained before heading to her tables. “Wish me luck.”

“All of it.” Martin said, wishing he could do more for her. Mary was good people.

“Reset 42, lad. I’ve got to deal with a situation in the back.” Jerry said as he rushed past without any further explanation. Which was why Martin found himself beside the pair’s table, listening in on Gerald’s ridiculously long spiel about the wine. Mr. Pepper looked bored throughout the entirety of it while Mr. Salt seemed to be listening with rapt attention. 

Enough so that Martin began to worry that they might get the wine after all. If what Emily and Mary said was true, they were going to be soon drinking expensive disappointment.

Martin was well aware he didn’t know a whole lot, but he did know that the girls knew their wine and the Ritz’s patrons. He also knew that Gerald was a greedy prick, and a bit of a bully, and that didn’t sit well with Martin. Martin didn’t know a lot, but he’d had a nan who’d taught him to tell the truth even if his voice shook while he did it.

“Um...excuse me...sirs. I don’t mean to intrude, but...” Martin began, wondering how the servers did this day in and day out. Having Mr. Pepper’s full attention upon him was like staring down a hallway at midnight to realize that something at the end of the hall was staring back at you. Even though Mr. Pepper was wearing sunglasses with dark lenses, Martin could tell there was something funny about his eyes. The man hadn’t blinked once so far.

On the other hand, Mr. Salt made Martin forget to breathe properly for completely other reasons. At first glance, he wasn’t much to look at, just an older man in a funny suit. Up close and personal though, Martin was torn between staring into the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, and the urge to never look up again. What he was looking into was equally as terrifying as the thing at the end of the dark hallway. 

Both entities were staring him down, and Martin didn’t know how to feel about that either.

“You are intruding. Shut your stupid little mouth, and go away. I’ll deal with the likes of you later.” Gerald snapped, looking ready to drag Martin off by his ear. What he said struck a chord with Mr. Salt though, Mr. Pepper leaving off Martin, whipping his face around to stare at his companion instead. He must of not liked what he saw there because he turned that heavy attention onto Gerald. 

“You. Shut it.” Mr. Pepper said quite firmly, Gerald doing exactly as he was told with wide eyes. Martin barely remembered not to flinch as that focus was switched back to him in an instant. “You. Talk.”

“It’s just I was in the kitchen earlier, helping out with the tatoes so I overheard the big man chef talking about the duck. I heard him say that he would drink something called Etna Bianco, that it would pair perfectly with it. I asked our Emily about it, and she thought it was ace too.” Martin waded through his words, trying to be as concise as possible while he sweated through his shirt’s cotton. “But you don’t have to take my word for it. I don’t know nothing about wine, and everyone keeps telling me it’s all about personal preference anyway.”

“Etna Bianco, Vigna di Milo, could also possible work with that particular dish, yes.” Gerald worked out, visibly torn between tearing Martin a new asshole, and maintaining his floor persona.

“I do believe he’s right.” Mr. Salt said, stealing a deviled egg from his companion’s plate to chew on it in a thoughtful manner. “If I remember correctly, the nose on that wine has notes of apricots, sweet almonds, and white flowers with a mouth of volcano, citrus, and flowers. It would go beautifully with the lavender and the smoked beetroot in the Breese Duck. We simply must get that, my dear.”

“And oh, look. It’s only £18, as opposed to £1,250.” Mr. Pepper drawled out, giving Gerald a crooked grin of ‘we know more than you do’ as the server’s face paled out.

Mr. Pepper and Mr. Salt then took their time and turns looking between the two of them. After exchanging a few clandestine glances, they seemed to come to some sort of unspoken agreement. 

“You. Go get your boss.” Mr. Pepper said, snapping his fingers at Gerald who scurried off. Martin wished he was going with him, the young man sighing in resignation. He definitely wouldn’t be allowed to stay now. 

“My dear boy, that was a very heavy sigh coming from someone so young. Whatever is the matter?” Mr. Salt asked, startling Martin into looking over at him again. He couldn’t tell what color Mr. Salt’s eyes were, his brain settling on blue, but he knew that wasn’t right either. There were too many other colors to be just blue, and Martin had no idea why he was under the impression that there should be more than two. It was a disconcerting sensation to experience.

“Nothing, sir. Just been a day is all. Nothing to concern yourself with.” Martin said, finding it easier to listen to Mr. Salt than look directly at him. 

“A day like any other day that can produce that sort of sigh?” Mr. Salt smiled. Martin didn’t know how, but he could hear the expression in his voice. 

“Yeah, I just got this job, and now I’ve gone and messed it all up. They probably not going to keep me on much longer cause I’ve messed up with important people.” Martin gave in. Mr. Salt might be unpleasant to look at up close, but he had the most beautiful caring voice. It was the kind of voice one would want to hear in hospital rooms and trenches alike.

“Who did you mess up with?” Asked the voice that Martin would give all his secrets away to if Mr. Salt wanted them. 

“Us, angel. He’s talking about us. We’re the important people he’s messed up with.” Mr. Pepper said, sounding exasperated. It was enough to make Martin stop studying his shoes and look up. For the moment, it felt safe enough to do so, the two completely involved with each other, to the point that Martin wondered if this was how furniture felt like. 

“Why would we be important to the Ritz, my dear one?” Mr. Salt’s full undivided attention was upon his dining companion. All the lights in the room seemed to perk up, and for some reason, there was suddenly the sweet scent of flowers Martin didn’t know the names of. 

“Because when you spending thousands of pounds a meal on a fairly regular basis, humans tend to deem that as important.” Mr. Pepper explained, his gaze locked onto his company’s face, Mr. Salt’s soft pink mouth in particular. 

Feeling even more unsettled than before, Martin felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment. 

“And the messing about was him interrupting that potato of a server who was trying to sell us on the Carruades.” Mr. Pepper finally continued after an uncomfortably long period of time he spent staring at Mr. Salt while stroking his neck. He still hadn’t blinked, not once, to Martin’s knowledge. 

“I don’t see why he would get in trouble for that. The wine our server was trying to sell us on was terribly inappropriate.” Mr. Salt said as he took another deviled egg, feeding it to Mr. Pepper who did something odd with his tongue. 

Or maybe his tongue was just odd, Martin realized, oddly thin and forked at the end of it. He didn’t get to dwell on it for too long. Mr. Salt was looking at him again, like he was expected an answer. 

“Emily and Mary both knew you wouldn’t like it. Told him as much.” Martin offered up before he could stop himself. “Why’d I tell you that?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. My angel tends to bring out honesty in others.” Mr. Pepper said with such pride in his voice as he lifted Mr. Salt’s hand to kiss the back of it. The antiquated gesture got a blushing wiggle from Mr. Salt. “Tell us more, boy.”

“I really shouldn’t.” Martin tried.

“You really should actually. You won’t like what I bring out of people.” Mr. Pepper promised without actually doing so as he stared at Martin over the rim of his dark shades. Mr. Pepper had very strange eyes, Martin telling himself that they had to be contacts. 

“Hush, dear.” Mr. Salt admonished, feeding scallops seasoned with fennel and lemon to Mr. Pepper next, who only seemed want a one bite of this and that. Martin noticed for the first time that they had all the first courses on their table, seven in total. Mr. Salt would pick the best of the best to create a perfect bite. When he was satisfied, he would feed it to Mr. Pepper, and then would eat the rest. “Don’t frighten the poor boy like that. He was trying to do us a kindness. He even put his position of employment on the line to do so.”

“I want to know why we’re suddenly so important to him to do such a thing.” Me. Pepper said, seeming to mellow under the attention. 

“Well, the entire front of the house staff adores you. The back of the house tend to whinge on about you though from time to time. Apparently you get in mood for things that they don’t have, but then suddenly do. When that happens, it really twists them a bit.” Martin decided that honesty was the best decision here. 

“That’s on you, dearest.” Mr. Salt teased Mr. Pepper who made a face back at him before allowing to be fed Langoustine with Á La Nate. “He gets in such moods for particular things sometimes.”

“You also made one of their sommeliers up and quit not too long ago. Strange bottles of wine he knew nothing about kept showing up out of thin air.” Martin continued. 

Mr. Pepper stared Mr. Salt down now, who looked somewhat ashamed by this for some reason. “It had been a bad few years for Rieslings from Valais.” He muttered to the other’s crowed delight.

“Indeed.” Mr. Pepper gloated, “I merely annoyed the cooks from time to time. You’ve gone and made someone flat out quit.”

“Oh dear, I hope they are all right.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just won the lotto, or a cash prize to a contest they doesn’t remember entering” Mr. Pepper sighed, snapping his fingers again. 

Martin was unsure if he was supposed to do something or not whenever Mr. Pepper did that. For all he knew, it could be some fancy gestures to get someone to fetch something for them.

“Oh, thank you, beloved.” Mr. Salt said with such sincerity and love that it made Martin tear up enough to spill the wells of his eyes. He couldn’t help it, even if he wanted to. 

So, of course, Gerald had to turn up with the the maître d' in tow, Bernard. Bernard looked and acted like the ‘Jeeves’ of his profession. 

“Please pardon our intrusion, gentlemen, but we need to speak to our colleague in private about an important matter.” Bernard said with a posed dignified calm that Martin envied. “Mr. Kettley, will you please come with us?

“No. He won’t be doing that.” Mr. Pepper said in a lazy tone that shouldn’t have carried such weighty authority in its bones. 

“I agree. I think we all should have a chat.” Mr. Salt nodded, and there it was again. His words settled in as heavily as Mr. Pepper’s own. 

“First off, we want a new server. This one’s complete rubbish.” Mr. Pepper told Bernard before turning to stare down Gerald. “The Carruades with the duck? Really? You’re either very stupid or very greedy, though I have a solid feeling that it’s the latter.”

“We would like this young man to wait on us.” Mr. Salt said, Martin toying with the idea of fainting. He shoved it down as a last option. Jerry would never let him live it down if he did. 

“I am afraid, dear gentleman, that Mr. Kettley does not currently possess the proper training to do so. The Ritz has a standard to maintain.”

“And we all know how important those are to you.” Mr. Pepper grinned over at Mr. Salt. 

“I believe there is a lovely young woman named Mary around somewhere. We would like to have her as our server instead.” Mr. Salt decided, ignoring his companion’s strange unexplained amusement. 

“Go relieve Mary of her section. You will be working there tonight instead. We will have our own chat later on.” Bernard said, Gerald having enough sense and professionalism not to lose his decorum. “I beg your pardon for leaving in such haste, gentlemen, but I shall soon return with Mary.”

“Thanks and all for that, but they’ll never keep me on as a busser, much less a server.” Martin said as soon as the others left.

“Why not?” Mr. Pepper challenged.

“Cause of how I talk. I was lucky to get where I am cause no one talks to a busser. That, and I’m not educated. I know nothing about what wine goes with caviar or that weird grey stuff. I just learned how to place all the silverware down the right way, but I still couldn’t tell you what any of them are for.”

“Is that all?” Mr. Pepper said as he pulled out his phone, making quick work across the screen. 

“Well...yeah.” Martin finished lamely.

“In the grand scheme of things, that isn’t very much at all to overcome.” Mr. Pepper pointed out, “You have a speech coach now in the morning to get your voice trained up, and they’ll help you trade in that Scouser accent for something a bit more posh. After that, you have classes in etiquette so you’ll finally get to find out what the baby fork is for. Won’t that be fun?”

“I can’t afford all that. I don’t have the time.” Martin word vomited in bewilderment. Life was coming at him hard and fast from an unexpected angle. 

“Yeah, you do. Quit making excuses. It’s all been bought and paid for. I’ve already sent the details to your phone. All you got to do is turn up for it, and apply yourself.” Mr. Pepper said, making Martin’s head spin with so many unanswered questions.

“How’d you get my phone number?” Was what Martin decided to go with for now.

“I have my ways, Martin Kettley.” Mr. Pepper grinned, his too many teeth looking quite sharp. 

“Why are you helping me out? You don’t know me.” Martin asked Mr. Salt because he didn’t think he could look at Mr. Pepper for much longer, with his funny unblinking eyes and needle like teeth. 

Turned out that looking at Mr. Salt wasn’t much of an improvement. His eyes and smile didn’t match the rest of him either, but in a much different way. All Martin could think of was love, of his mum making his favorite foods when he went up to visit, of his girl when they cuddled on the couch together, of his best mates at the pub living it up. 

They were quite nice things to think about, but not all at once, especially not while he was at work, trying not to get fired. 

“You didn’t know us either, but you kept that horrid server from selling us that wine. All on your own, you decided the right thing to do at great professional risk.” Mr. Salt said his words like he was proving a point.

“While at the same time screwing that wanker over.” Mr. Pepper countered. 

“But Mary’s prayers will be answered.” Mr. Salt beamed, almost in a literal sense. Martin made a mental note to get his eyes checked as the all the lights seemed to get brighter again. 

“And Gerald will be spending the rest of his night dealing with Dursleys and their terrible son.” Mr. Pepper said, sounding quite pleased about life. “Well done, you.”

“How do you know all that?” Martin asked while he could, Mary and Bernard heading their way. 

“Where would be the fun in telling you?” Mr. Pepper said as he pulled down his shades to wink at Martin. It was as close to a blink that he was going to get. 

“Sometimes things are best left to the ineffable. Not bad for a couple of poofs though.” Mr. Salt said like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. For whatever reason, it made Mr. Pepper bark out laughter which set off Mr. Salt as well, the pair shaking with mirth. 

“I’m pleased to find everyone in such good spirits.” Bernard said upon arrival. Martin has never been more grateful to see another human being. He desperately wanted a moment to smoke a cigarette or four, and clear his head. 

“Gentlemen, we will leave you in Mary’s very capable hands. Please enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll be back to check on you before you take your leave of us.” Bernard said in that graceful manner of his. “Mr. Kettley, please come along.”

“See you around, Martin.” Mr. Pepper said with kind of smile that told the room that he knew things that they didn’t, his too many teeth too white and sharp. 

“Good luck with everything, and mind how you go.” Mr. Salt said with the most beautiful smile, the kind that made all the lights act funny again. It took a lot from Martin to not put hell to leather as he followed Bernard to his office. 

“Are you all right, Mr. Kettley?” Bernard asked not unkindly as soon as he closed the door behind him. 

“I dunno. I’ve got classes apparently now.” Martin managed out, looking around the organized chaos of the maître d's office.

“Please take a seat.” Bernard offered, pulling the chair out opposite his own for the busser. Martin stared back, things not processing like they should just yet.

“Mr. Kettley, please sit down before you fall over.” Bernard ordered this time in the politest yet sternest tone of voices. It was only then that Martin realized that he was shaking. He sat down in a rush, leaning toward to hold his head in his hands. 

“What just happened? I haven’t gone spare, have I?” Martin asked his palms. 

“No, Mr. Kettley. You have not. The shortest answer I can give is that the Fells happened to you.” Bernard said gently as he patted the younger man’s shoulder. He then pulled open a drawer to produce two crystal tumblers and a bottle of scotch that was usually only seen behind glass in nicer stores. Bernard poured a generous amount for them both, passing one of the glasses off to Martin.

“Cheers.” Martin said before knocking the liquor back all in one go. Bernard didn’t bother to hide his wince, taking a more reverential sip of his own. “The Fells?”

“I believe your colleagues refer to them as Mr. Pepper and Mr. Salt.” Bernard said as he poured Martin another sizable drink. “Please sip at that this time round.”

“What are they? Cause they ain’t...” Martin tried to wrap his head around what he just experienced. “They ain’t normal.”

“No. No, they are not.” Bernard nodded, “I started out as a busser here. I was younger than you at the time. I can tell you that the Fells have been coming here for a very long time, and I dare say that they’ll still be coming here, sitting at the very same table, after you and I are gone in every sense of the word.”

Martin took another unsteady drink. “Yeah?”

“Whatever they are, I do not believe that they mean us any harm.” Bernard said with the small smile of remembrance. “There was this one time, this busser, such as yourself dropped an entire tray of wine glasses and dishware. He slipped, and followed it. I saw him with my own two eyes fall hard on top of the heap. He should have been cut to ribbons.”

“I take it he wasn’t.”

“Not a scratch on him.”

“The servers love them.” Martin said, regaining some mental footing as he remembered everyone’s delight response to the pair’s coming.

“With good reason. They have paid many a due rent, given away extravagant trips that have changed lives, and saved a Christmas or two in their time with us.” Bernard said, topping them off. “Mark my words, Mary will be very well taken care of. That I have no doubt. They adore mothers and children.” 

“Like her prayers had been answered.” Martin said, turning thoughts around in his head. “They only do good things then?”

“Not quite.” Bernard sighed, “On the other side of it, I have seen people’s clothing catch on fire, usually after they’ve been especially rude to the staff. Overly loud guests will have their mouthes scalded by too hot soup or coffee when it had been just fine a sip before, and the darkest of sauces tend to land on the palest materials with breathtaking accuracy and distance on people who do not properly watch their children.

“So what should I do? About the classes?”

“I would tentatively take it as a sign that they like you, or that you have amused them.” Bernard said after a moment of thought. “Or it is a backhanded compliment. I’m sorry, but I really could not tell you which.”

“That’s comforting.” Martin said, swallowing the rest of his drink down.

“ My advice would be to go to each and every one of those classes. Just let me know when you have them, and I’ll schedule you accordingly. It needs to be updated anyway, now that you’ll be involved with our server training program.” Bernard said, taking down notes for himself. “It’s just as well. I don’t think Gerald will be with the company much longer.”

“You gonna fire him for recommending the wrong wine?” Martin asked, charitably thinking that was harsh even in regard to Gerald. 

“Not at all. It’s just that...well, here’s the thing. Employees that the Fells do not particularly care for have a tendency to be gone by their next reservation.”

It was currently being noted by forces at work that Gerald was well on his way to rage quitting. Mrs. Dursley had sent back her food for the third time with little to no explanation to as of why. All the while, her husband loudly complained about the service, their vile progeny adding in insults there and there for flavor. This was all being watched from afar, Mary happily clearing away the last course in preparation for dessert and coffee.

“You don’t think we went too hard on him?” Aziraphale sighed.

“Martin’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’ll be fine.” Crowley said, “Can you believe that wanker was going to pair the Carruades with the Breese Duck?”

“I know! I could hardly keep a straight face!” Aziraphale grinned back, thoroughly amused. “What do you think of the new one? You’ve certainly set him up for success.”

“He’s an interesting one. Mixed bag really, but ultimately, he wanted to protect us. I felt that he deserved a little reward for doing so.” Crowley said, picking up his champagne glass in toast. They drank a lot more champagne now. “To the world, angel.”

“To the world, my love.”


End file.
